Monkey Chi, Monkey Du
by Gray Cardinal
Summary: Will Du's personality is more wooden than usual. Can Kim and Ron change him back? Do they want to? And what does Monkey Fist want with the Monkey King? Crossover with Jackie Chan Adventures. Chapter 2 up at last.
1. All This For A Toy?

**Disclaimer:** _Kim Possible and related characters are the property of Disney; Jackie Chan (the animated version) and related characters are the property of Adelaide Productions. However, the copyright and/or trademark owners are in no way responsible for the content of the following story, which is entirely my fault._

**Notes:** _Yes, the title is a particularly evil pun – and it's the major reason this story exists, as once the title occurred to me, I knew there was no way I could leave it lying around unused. Never mind the number of other projects I have on various burners, fic-related or otherwise, this one wasn't going to let me ignore it. The pace of updates on this tale may be erratic, as I really do want to move the "Sitch in Slash" series forward, and this story isn't (I don't think, at least) a part of that continuity._

**

* * *

1 • All This For A _Toy_?**

_ England • Montgomery Fiske's country estate _

Monkey Fist regarded his computer screen thoughtfully as Bates set a plate on his desk, then poured out a cup of tea to go with the banana scones. "Something important, sir?" the butler asked.

"I believe so, Bates. It appears that my agents have located the puppet-avatar of the Monkey King – in Seattle, Washington, to be precise."

"Ah," said Bates. "A new monkey artifact. What does this one do, milord?"

"Actually," his employer replied, "it is neither new nor precisely an artifact. According to my sources, it is the Monkey King himself, frozen in the form of a wooden puppet. Which is what makes him – ah, it – extraordinarily useful. If I can obtain that puppet, I can perform the ancient rituals to transfer the Monkey King's _chi_ power – the power of a god himself – from the puppet into me. And then . . . " Monkey Fist paused, gathering himself for a diabolical laugh, ". . . I shall have more than enough mystical monkey power to overwhelm all my enemies once and for all! _Muahahahahaha!!_"

"Very good, sir," Bates said calmly, as his master stuffed a banana scone into his mouth. "I'll ready your luggage at once."

Monkey Fist merely nodded, reaching for another scone with one genetically modified foot as he typed instructions to his minions halfway around the planet. _Soon_, he thought. _Soon ultimate monkey power will be mine._

_ USA • Global Justice HQ _

"We have a code Maxwell Gracie Gold, repeat, M-G Gold," the agent on duty at the GPS monitor desk said, speaking crisply into her headset mike. "Satellite monitors confirm M-G subject Montgomery Fiske, a-k-a Monkey Fist, en route for North America via private jet. Specific destination not yet established, pending data-sweep." She was keying commands into her desktop terminal as she spoke, initiating search routines that flickered out like a swarm of tiny spiders across hundreds of different public and private networks. Simultaneously, a bright purple dot appeared on the giant map-screen that occupied most of the room's wall, pulsing as it moved across the Atlantic.

In a smaller glass-walled chamber above and behind the main operations floor, a tall woman with a patch over one eye glared at the map and frowned. "Monkey Fist," Dr. Director muttered, then switched on her own headset. "Assignment desk, open channel K; contact Kim Possible for immediate dispatch, final destination to follow."

Almost immediately, a much younger voice sounded apologetically across the communications link. "Monkey Fist? Sorry, Dr. D – Kim and Ron are in Japan right now on a high-security job for Nakasumi. I'll let them know as soon as they check in, but it might not be for a day or two."

The brow over Dr. Director's visible eye twitched. "I see. Well . . . we'll just have to deal with this one ourselves, then."

"Good luck," Wade told her. "But keep me informed, just in case."

The GJ leader nodded toward her camera pickup. "Of course," she said, then switched back to the shielded headquarters signal network. "Assignment desk, who do we have available and in range for immediate dispatch?"

The reply was instantaneous. "Agent Otis Knowe, present location Atlanta, Georgia. Agent Charlene Pei, present location Albuquerque, New Mexico. Agent Will Du, present location Minneapolis, Minnesota."

Dr. Director suppressed a sigh. Pei was just two months out of the GJ training academy, and Knowe was an infiltration specialist who stood all of four foot eight in his stocking feet; against Fiske and his inevitable troop of monkey ninjas, either of them would be hopelessly outmatched. That left just one candidate – and as good as that agent was, he tended not to deal well with the occasional "mad genius" cases that landed in Global Justice's lap.

There was, however, no other option. "Very well," she told the assignment officer. "Assign and brief Agent Will Du, then notify him as soon as Fiske's target destination is identified."

"Understood," came the reply, and then the connection clicked off as the assignment officer switched channels.

Dr. Director stepped forward for a moment, gazing down onto the operations floor, then reached up, unclipped her headset, and slipped it into a pocket as she headed for her office. "Good luck, Will," she said softly as she headed out of the command chamber in search of a cup of extra-strong herbal tea.

_ Downtown Seattle • International District _

To outward appearances, it was a perfectly normal morning along Yesler Street. Customers were strolling from one store to the next, lingering in one or another coffee shop, or perusing the displays in particular windows. Neighborhood residents were walking their dogs, pigeons and crows perched on utility wires, and bicycle couriers threaded their way through the busy stream of auto and bus traffic.

The truly perceptive observer, however, might have noticed a handful of anomalies on this particular morning – especially within a block or two of the three-story brick building where a modest sign reading "Quentin Rio, Appraisals" hung in one of the ground-floor windows. For example:

The straggle-bearded man pushing the personal-sized shopping cart (lined with a green trash bag to keep its contents from spilling out) looked just about as scruffy as any of Seattle's homeless folk, and no one gave him a second glance as he paused under a tree. Nor did anyone notice when he glanced up into that tree and touched something on his wrist . . . causing a pair of nearly invisible wires to shoot silently upward. A moment later, there was a rustle and a muffled _thump!_ as a furry shape dropped out of that tree and into the cart, and the straggle-bearded man strode briskly off down a side street.

Leaning against another tree across the street, a purple-haired Goth girl in motorcycle leathers stood with a double-tall coffee in one hand, watching pedestrians and skateboarders walk or roll past . . . and didn't notice when a small brown hand emerged from the tree's branches to toss a pinch of fine black powder into her lidless cup. Three minutes and several gulps of coffee later, she yawned, stretched, and plopped lazily down at the base of the tree for a nap – whereupon a small black-clad shape scrambled quickly down out of the branches, took all of seventeen seconds to pick one of the heavy padlocks hanging from the sleeping girl's chain-studded belt, and twelve more to use the lock to secure her matching leather wristbands together behind the tree (wrists still inside them). The silent figure paused for another few seconds to relieve its victim of her wristwatch and mini-headset before scampering back up into the tree and out of sight.

A block away, a slim woman in plain jeans and an eggshell-blue shirt reached through the back panel of the stroller she was pushing. But instead of the cool plastic shell her fingers expected to touch, she encountered short, thick fuzz – and the sharp prick of a thorn against her palm, followed by a rapid, numbing paralysis that spread through her body in mere moments. The stroller's disguised monkey occupant took almost no time at all to find and activate the controls that engaged the roller-skate mode in the paralyzed agent's shoes, followed by those that put the stroller on autopilot, sending "mother" and ninja merrily on their way to Pike Place Market and out of any prospective confrontation.

Meanwhile, on a fire escape two floors above street level, another monkey ninja studied the sophisticated infant doll liberated from the stroller a few minutes earlier. The monkey hadn't seen many one-year-old human babies, and the doll seemed no more than usually lifelike where it sat on the metal grating – until it uttered a piercing "WAAHHH!" Hurriedly, the ninja picked the toy up, cradling it in its arms, and after a moment the crying stopped. Then, however, there was a faint _click_, and the doll said in a surprisingly crisp voice, "You're not my mommy!" The monkey had just time to note the presence of a neat, strategically cut hole in the doll's diaper before a stream of pale liquid shot out, quickly dispersing into a cloud of fast-acting knockout gas.

By the time their master emerged from Quentin Rio's offices ten minutes later, two more monkey ninjas found themselves captured by alert Global Justice operatives (one disguised as an ice cream vendor, the other as a writer Web-surfing outside an espresso bar) – but two more GJ agents also fell victim to monkey ninja sabotage. Monkey Fist – dressed neatly in a black cashmere suit, an oblong box tucked under one arm – merely raised a single bushy eyebrow as Will Du met him halfway between the building entrance and the street.

"Lord Montgomery Fiske," Will said, "I am Agent Will Du, and you are under arrest in the name of Global Justice. Please surrender that package and come along peacefully."

Monkey Fist chuckled. "I rather think not. This artifact is legally mine, and you have no grounds to hold me – not that you could if you tried," he added, eyeing Will critically. "Kindly stand aside."

Will met his stare evenly. "You're wanted in eleven countries on charges of trafficking in stolen antiquities, and in nineteen for illegally transporting animals across international borders. You are also surrounded by Global Justice agents. If you do not surrender now, we will detain you by any means necessary."

"Hah," said Fiske. "My monkeys serve me of their own accord -- and it is you, Agent Will Du, who are surrounded." He whistled two quick, soft notes. "Monkey ninjas, defend!" Four monkey ninjas sprang from what seemed to be nowhere to flank the master of Tai Sheng Pek Kwar.

Will's response was instantaneous. "Task force, engage!" he ordered, speaking into his headset mike; four GJ agents broke cover and leapt into action, racing to meet the enemy.

Both leaders looked startled at the size – or lack of size – of the response. "Stations two, five, six, and eight, report!" Will commanded, even as Monkey Fist chittered a question at one of his own ninja defenders. The combatants, however, were too busy to reply, as they began an eight-way martial arts melee on the St. John Building's rather cramped front lawn.

Will's first action was to fire his taser-watch at Fiske, but the monkey master merely held up a fuzzy-furred hand, caught the wires, and grinned as pale blue energy crackled along his arm. "Thank you, Agent Du! I shall put this extra _chi_ power to good use, I assure you!" He followed the action with a quick, sharp tug, and Will found himself stumbling forward toward the English lord. Quickly, he turned the stumble into a controlled somersault, forcing a surprised Monkey Fist to leap abruptly upward to avoid being knocked bodily to the ground. The jump enabled Fiske to escape Will's direct assault – indeed, he used Will's tumbling body as the springboard for a second hop – but the sudden shift nearly cost him his balance. And as he flung his arms sideways to keep himself centered, the parcel containing his newly acquired treasure flew from his grip.

As it did so, the lid separated from the body of the box, and the three components – lid, box, and contents – each spun in separate directions. The box thwacked Monkey Fist lightly on the toes as he spun back toward his opponent. The lid flew sideways, disappearing into the maze of strike and counterstrike between the monkey ninjas and Will's GJ team. And the box's contents – a colorfully painted wood-and-string monkey puppet, plus a shower of Styrofoam packing peanuts – landed squarely in Will Du's hands as he, too, whirled to resume the fight.

"That puppet is mine!" Fiske roared. "Give it to me at once!" Yet he did not attack; instead, he held himself utterly still, yet tensed and ready to spring in an eyeblink.

Will regarded the object he held with complete astonishment. "A toy?" he asked in tones of disbelief. "All this for a _toy_?" He turned it over in his hands, noting the brief inscription carved on the monkey's back. "Pull my leg . . . ."

"_NOOOO!_" Fiske's wail went unanswered as Agent Will Du, shaking his head in bemusement, suited action to word, tugging gingerly on one of the puppet's segmented lower limbs.

The sound of cymbals clashing – too soft for anyone save Fiske to hear – came from nowhere in particular, and the slight _whoosh_ of displaced air also went unnoticed. Nor was anyone along the street (save Monkey Fist) properly positioned to see the very air sparkle with red-and-silver glitter as the dual transformations occurred: monkey puppet to living, breathing – and levitating – Monkey King, and top Global Justice agent to toy-sized, roughly chiseled figure of string and wood.

"Well, well, well!" said the newly freed Monkey King, making one quick spin in mid-air before settling himself neatly on solid ground. "The King is back, long live the King! And who might you be, fur-fingers?" he inquired, eyeing Montgomery Fiske with a mixture of curiosity, amusement, and wariness.

Monkey Fist bobbed his head in what he hoped was a gesture of respect. "A humble student of Tai Sheng Pek Kwar," he replied, "the greatest of all martial arts. My services – and my students – are at your disposal." He gestured toward his monkey ninjas, who had stopped fighting and turned their attention firmly toward the Monkey King the instant he had come to life. The remaining Global Justice agents, meanwhile, were staring at the four-foot-tall talking monkey with glazed expressions.

"Monkey kung fu," the Monkey King said. "Hmm. Not as much fun as good old monkeyshines – but it'll do for a start. Show me a couple of katas, boys," he said, turning to address the four monkey ninjas – who promptly spun, bowed, adopted formal fighting stances, and dropped their dazed GJ opponents flat with one carefully targeted kick apiece.

The King grinned. "Very smooth. All right, then, fur-fingers – let's find someplace to sit down and make some plans."

"As you wish," Fiske said, doing his best not to grit his teeth. This was going to complicate his plans enormously. Unless . . . . "I have an aircraft nearby," he told the Monkey King. "That should be suitably private."

He waited till the King had followed his gesture – and the lead of the remaining ninja team – before quickly and quietly scooping up the all-but-forgotten puppet and following the Monkey King toward the garage where Bates and the town car would be waiting. _Perhaps you can help me after all, Will Du,_ he thought. _You may be just what I need to maneuver young Stoppable into living up to his name – once and for all_.

_

* * *

To be continued..._


	2. A Present From My ArchNemesis

**Notes:** _This is an insanely, absurdly overdue update, and I hope any readers still following this will forgive the spectacular delay. My thanks to reviewers A Markov, aedan cameron, GhostWhiter, King in Yellow, and spectre666 for their support and advocacy on the story's behalf. And now, on with the show..._

#

**2 • A Present From My Arch-Nemesis**

_San Francisco, CA – Uncle's Rare Finds_

"Bad day!" Jade Chan muttered to herself, resisting the impulse to fling the TV remote straight into the screen like a shuriken.

It was one of her uncle Jackie's – well, _favorite_ wasn't the right word, but it was an expression he used all too often. She had been looking forward to the afternoon's episode of _SuperMoose_ with even more enthusiasm than usual. Her substitute teacher's voice made fingernails scraping a chalkboard sound almost soothing, and not even the fact that he'd completely failed to assign his fifth-grade listeners any homework had made enduring his lectures anything less than torture.

But the Calliope Channel had pre-empted _SuperMoose_ in favor of a _Viva Pinata!_ marathon, and so she was reduced to channel-surfing. Infomercial, talk show, cooking show, infomercial, infomercial, news channel, infomer-- "Waitasecond," Jade said, flicking back to the news channel. "Did he say _monkey ninjas_?"

". . . show you the following cell-phone video," the news anchor said, "taken on the scene by an alert citizen."

The screen blinked, then displayed a smallish urban lawn where three people wearing crisp red and black uniforms and stunned facial expressions stood facing three good-sized monkeys wearing black martial-arts belts and not much else. In a single neatly timed move, the monkeys leapt, kicked – and their human opponents went down like department store mannequins.

"The victims' clothing," said the anchor, as the video image shrank into the top quarter of the screen, "identifies them as agents of Global Justice. When we contacted GJ regarding the matter, this is what we were told."

The screen cut to the image of a frowning, silver-haired man in a darker-toned GJ uniform, whose onscreen tagline identified him as _S. I. Lentz, Spokesman, Global Justice_. "We cannot, of course," Lentz said, "comment in detail on the status of an ongoing investigation."

"Come now, Mr. Lentz," said the on-camera reporter. "Clearly those are your agents in that video, and independent sources confirm that Monkey Fist has been seen in Seattle within the last forty-eight hours."

"If you're referring to Lord Montgomery Fiske," replied Lentz, "then your sources and ours are in agreement. However, Lord Fiske's legal representatives continue to maintain that he is a legitimate scholar and collector of antiquities, and that any connection between Lord Fiske and the international criminal known as Monkey Fist is entirely coincidental."

One of the reporter's eyebrows went up. "If you say so – but let's get back to that video. Those were in fact monkey ninjas, weren't they?"

"So it would appear," Lentz admitted.

"And their victims were in fact GJ agents, weren't they?"

"I really couldn't comment on that," said Lentz. "Until our forensics staff has had an opportunity to fully analyze that video, it wouldn't be appropriate for me to speculate."

The reporter smiled faintly. "If you say so. However, given the presence of the monkey ninjas, isn't it safe to assume that Monkey Fist – whoever he is – was indeed in Seattle at the time the video was taken?"

Lentz's expression grew solemn. "We are taking that possibility very seriously," he said, "and I would strongly encourage anyone with information that might assist that investigation to contact Global Justice." An 800 number and a Web URL flashed on the screen as he spoke.

The news anchor reappeared on the screen. "In the hours since we conducted that interview," he said, "Wolf News has interviewed several additional witnesses, who confirm the events depicted in the video, up to and including Monkey Fist's escape and the apparent disappearance of a top GJ agent. One source, who declined to appear on camera, indicates that the subject of the confrontation was an ancient Chinese monkey puppet, also unaccounted for in the wake of the incident. For additional details, including additional video footage, follow this story on the Wolf News Web site."

Jade was already racing for her laptop computer as the network cut to a commercial – and one viewing of the complete video clip confirmed her suspicions. The images might be choppy, but there was no doubt about what they depicted.

"Uncle!" she called, darting down the stairs and into the shop. "Where's Jackie? We've got monkey trouble!"

The silver-haired, crooked-limbed antique dealer gave her a stern look. "Not possible! Monkey talisman is safe in Captain Black's vault!"

Jade ignored the look, since it was the same one Uncle gave everyone and everything. "Not monkey talisman trouble," she told him, "Monkey King trouble! As in, he's loose again! Look at this!"

"Look at what?" asked Jackie, coming through the door at the rear of the shop, a mug of tea in hand. By the time he reached the counter, Jade had her laptop set up, and he and Uncle peered over each other's shoulders at the display as she set the video sequence running again.

Uncle was shaking his head, and Jade had to bat his hand away from the screen when he tried to thwack a GJ agent's forehead. "Monkey King _and_ monkey ninjas!" he said. "Very bad."

"And monkey kung fu," Jackie put in, looking worried. "That man, Monkey Fist, is a very great master of Tai Sheng Pek Kwar. Very dangerous," he added, glancing pointedly at Jade. "I will call Section 13."

"I will cast locator spell!" Uncle said. "Also must do RE-search! We must have the spell Daolon Wong used to defeat Monkey King in Hawaii."

Jade grinned as she shut down her laptop computer. "I'll go pack. Gotta be ready once we find out where they went." And she was gone up the stairs before Jackie could object.

#

_Middleton, OH_

"I don't know, Kim," Ron Stoppable said. "That chem test was evil with a capital E – and I didn't have much time to study on the way back from Japan. You're sure Barkin couldn't have ordered it from HenchCo?"

Kim Possible laughed as she turned the Sloth into her best friend's driveway. "The school board couldn't afford their prices. And the taxpayers would freak."

Before Ron could open the car's passenger door, a familiar _beep-beep-be-beep_ sounded from the dashboard. "What's the sitch, Wade?" Kim asked as the video display lit up.

"Global Justice," said the pre-teen genius. "Dr. Director's on the line. Probably the same mission she called about while you were in Kyoto – I didn't get details at the time."

Kim sighed. "Put her through. But if it involves bailing out Will Doodoo..."

"Be nice, Kim," Ron said as the screen blinked. "Just because he's completely annoying doesn't mean he's a bad person."

"Indeed," Dr. Director said. "In most situations, Will Du is an extremely effective agent. At the moment, however, he's missing in action, and I need you to find him."

"Missing?" echoed Kim, resisting – with difficulty – the impulse to ask why she should be concerned. "Don't tell me you sent him after Killigan again."

The brow above Dr. Director's visible eye arched. "Duff Killigan is currently in prison in Greece," she said mildly, "and in any event, Will is better suited for other operations. Unfortunately, his most recent assignment wasn't one of them."

Kim's eyebrows rose in return. "And that was...?"

"Apprehending Lord Montgomery Fiske," said Dr. Director. "Or, as you call him—"

"Monkey Fist!" Ron said. "You sent Will Du after _him_?"

Dr. Director's expression was half wry and half severe. "He wasn't my first choice," she pointed out, "but the two of you were unavailable." Rufus popped up from Ron's pocket with an aggrieved squeak, and she promptly corrected herself. "The three of you, I should say. We sent him to Seattle with a full task force; the rest of the team is accounted for, but Will has disappeared. Possibly literally – my agents' reports are a trifle confused as to exactly what happened – and we've lost track of Fiske as well."

Kim sighed. "Maybe Wade can pick up his trail," she said. "We'll get on it. Any idea what he was doing in Seattle in the first place?"

"Meeting with a curio dealer about an artifact," Dr. Director responded. "That's gone as well, of course – though for once he seems to have bought whatever it was legally. Wade has the original mission briefing for you. Good luck, Kim," she said, signing off.

Wade's image reappeared on the Sloth's dashboard video screen. "Monkey Fist's jet left SeaTac fifty-seven hours ago," he said, "but he's disabled its transponders so it can't be tracked via GPS. He could be anywhere by now."

"Man, that tanks," said Ron, who was abruptly interrupted by a sharp tapping noise. He rolled down the Sloth's passenger window; on its other side stood a uniformed delivery driver.

"Are you Ronald Stoppable, Esquire?"

"That would be me," Ron said eagerly. "Somebody sent me a package?"

"Looks like it," the driver replied. "Sign here." Ron obliged, and the driver handed a shoebox-sized parcel through the car window.

"Let me guess," Kim said. "Pre-release copy of the new Zombie Mayhem game?"

Ron eyed the box thoughtfully. "Don't think so. Last I heard they were still beta-testing the napalm-grenade sequences. Besides, that'd come from California, and this was shipped from . . . Seattle?"

"Seattle?" Kim's and Wade's exclamations were perfectly synchronized. "Let me scan that," Wade added, as a tiny sensor probe popped out of the dashboard and swept a pale blue bar of light over the package in Ron's lap.

Several long, silent moments passed.

"It seems to be clean," Wade said at last. "No explosives, no biohazard signatures, no weird chemical readings, no boobytraps. But Monkey Fist's finger and toeprints are all over it."

"Better open it," Kim said.

"Just what I always wanted, a present from my arch-nemesis." But Ron shrugged, tugged his key ring from his pocket, and slit the tape sealing the top of the box shut with a tiny pocketknife. "Whee, tissue paper."

"Come on," Kim told him. "This is no time to be squeamish."

"Who's being squeamish?" Ron demanded, carefully unfolding the layers of wrapping a single sheet at a time. "I'm preserving the evidence."

"What evidence? We already know who sent it."

Ron shrugged. "All right, but if I succumb to a diabolical monkey curse, it's all your fault." He plunged his hand into the box, and withdrew—

—a wood-and-string puppet about a foot long, in the roughly carved but unmistakeable image of Will Du, top agent of Global Justice.

Kim stared at the little figure. "I always knew Will was a stick in the mud, but this is just weird. Who'd make an action-figure version of him in the first place, and why would Monkey Fist send us one?"

Ron's face, however, had taken on a very odd expression. "There's something funky going on here," he said. "If I had mystical monkey senses, they'd be tingling like crazy right about now. Wade, how about a scan on Will Junior here?"

The boy genius's tone was skeptical. "You know the MMP is way off my radar, but we'll see." The sensor unit's light-bar swept across the puppet and back again.

"Huh," Wade said after a few moments, clearly surprised. "There's something going on with that thing, but I'm not sure whether it's a really faint electrical field or some kind of sensor ghost. I don't suppose Monkey Fist sent along an instruction manual with it?"

"Let me look," Ron said. He rummaged in the box with his free hand, and came up with a neatly folded sheet of cream-colored notepaper.

Kim plucked it from between his fingers, opened it, and read:

_My dear arch-nemesis:_

_Greetings. By now you will doubtless be aware of my latest venture, whether via the bunglers at Global Justice or the wonders of modern television. Ordinarily, I would advise you not to interfere with my plans in the strongest possible terms, lest I be forced to utterly destroy you and your annoying companions in the course of achieving my ultimate mastery._

_In the present case, however, your assistance may be of some use. Through no fault of my own, a being has been freed whose powers outshine mine and yours together, and whose attitude toward humankind is uniquely and dangerously whimsical. Only by coordinating our efforts can we hope to contain and defeat this entity. In the interest of achieving that goal, be advised that I have drawn the creature's attention to the troop of Japanese snow monkeys quartered at the Oregon National Primate Research Center; it is my hope that freeing these simian souls will occupy him long enough for us to develop an effective plan of attack._

_Whether or not you choose to accept my offer of temporary alliance, I suggest that you take the best possible care of the enclosed artifact. As long as you keep him undamaged, it's conceivable – if unlikely – that his condition might eventually be reversed. (Personally, I consider this form a minor improvement over the original, but tastes vary.)_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Lord Montgomery Fiske_

As she finished reading the letter, Kim eyed the small wooden figure with a shocked glance. "Is he saying what I think he's saying?"

Ron frowned, resting a fingertip on puppet-Will's head. "Wrongsick," he said. "Very, very wrongsick. But yeah, the monkey senses don't lie. This isn't a copy, it's the real Will. I can – how would Sensei say it? – sense his _chi_ in there. What there is of it, anyway."

Kim sighed again. "Well, at least that answers Dr. Director's question – now we know where Will is."

"True," Ron said. "But what now? I suppose we could just mail him back to GJ . . . "

"I wish. I really wish," Kim said. "But if there's any way to change him back, we have to try. And there's Monkey Fist – this letter has _trap_ written all over it, but what the heck is he talking about? I mean, dangerous and whimsical?"

"Here, let me have a look." Ron reached for the note, handing Kim the wooden Will in its place. As he studied his arch-foe's elegant handwriting, Kim examined the puppet curiously. "Hey," she said as she turned it over in her hands, "there's writing on the back. Pull my—"

Invisible cymbals softly went _clang_, the air in the Sloth softly went _whoosh!_, and a dazed male voice spoke from the vicinity of the pedals. "Ow!" it said, as its owner banged his head on the underside of the dashboard. "Where am I?"

#

**A/N:** _I know, fannish consensus mostly puts Middleton in Colorado; I have a different theory, based largely on reconciling the relative locations of Middleton, the Crooked D, and Nana's place in Florida. As to continuity -- while I'm incorporating Season 4 references into this story, I'm also mostly disregarding the Season 4 Monkey Fist episodes. And I'm arbitrarily placing this adventure earlier in the _Jackie Chan Adventures_ continuity than real-world cross-timing would ordinarily suggest (more on this in subsequent chapters)._


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